


Mirror of the Hidden

by agneskamilla



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Case Fic, HP: EWE, M/M, Minor Character Death, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-24 08:57:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1599116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agneskamilla/pseuds/agneskamilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Ministry gets stuck with a murder case they ask for Harry Potter’s expertise in the area of mirror-magic. Guess whom he has to work with.</p><p>Originally written for Snarry-a-Thon14, for prompt #54: They had a relationship that ended badly. A couple years later they meet again, still in love and still bitter about how it ended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mirror of the Hidden

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Keyairreem for the help, advice and for existing. Also a huge thank you to Torino for all her help and patience.

 

 

Harry crouched down next to the puddle in the middle of a shadowy London alley. The unmistakable smell of the city immediately assaulted his nostrils.  
  
Living in a big city makes its occupants mostly immune to all its noise, dirt, and smell; this Harry learnt early on. The inhabitants can almost forget about the litter, the smoke, the hastily sprayed paint on the walls: all the things which blur their senses every day. It is a part of life; accepted as it is. But on especially hot summer days, like this one, after the long-awaited rain finally descended on the city, streets simply evaporate the damp, hot, foul breath of the capital.  
  
 _It is almost like leaning close to kiss a beast with rotten teeth_ , Harry thought as he leaned even closer to the ground. The comparison didn’t lighten his mood at all, as he came face to face with the image of a woman, frozen in the most unappealing expression ever.  
  
Fear. Absolute terror.  
  
Her eyes were unnaturally wide, pupils dilated, eyebrows raised and pulled together, lips forming a scream which remained unheard. Even her hair was as if she had had an electric shock.  
  
Harry stretched out his hand to carefully touch the puddle’s surface which somehow preserved the image. It was hard, smooth and cold. Just like glass, or a mirror.  
  
From the corner of his eye, he saw two Aurors who, only a few feet away, closed up the body bag, containing the same woman whose features were imprinted on the water’s surface. Astonishingly, the corpse itself didn’t look as horrified as its image in front of Harry.  
  
As if the strange phenomenon had been able to record the very essence of the woman’s emotions, to mirror them in their purest form. Mirrors that show not the obvious, but the hidden, weren’t unknown in the Wizarding world. But those were rare, and usually not framed by the concrete of the London streets. And, they usually didn’t capture the image of their holder and freeze it for eternity.  
  
Harry’s musing was interrupted by an impatient question, coming from behind him.  
  
“What is your authorization for being at a crime scene?” a man asked. He had a pleasant baritone, but his voice made Harry’s blood suddenly as cold as the strange glassy surface in front of him. Only one man had a voice like this; only one man could pose a mere question like an insult to your very existence.  
  
Harry slowly stood up and turned to face the newcomer.  
  
“I was asked to investigate the scene as a consultant, Snape,” Harry replied coldly. “Good evening to you, too,” he added in the least friendly manner possible, bravely meeting the pitch black gaze of the other. Harry’s every muscle struggled to tense and just flee, but Harry didn’t let them carry him away.  
  
Looking at Severus Snape was like watching a sodding gargoyle: ugliness and cruelty sculptured from cold, unyielding stone, congealed into immobility.  
  
“Potter,” the man spat his name. “Who in their right minds would ask for _your_ opinion?” he asked maliciously.  
  
“Actually Minister Shacklebolt did, Unspeakable Snape,” Head Auror Robards interrupted as he stepped in between the two men. “Mr Potter, thank you for coming in short order. We really appreciate your help.”  
  
Harry nodded, but his reply was forestalled by Snape.  
  
“I can’t see why the Minister for Magic would become involved in the mundane process of crime investigation. Isn’t that an unnecessary… luxury?” Snape sneered.  
  
Robards massaged the bridge of his nose, probably to stay calm. Snape usually had this effect on people.  
  
“Minister Shacklebolt insisted on calling for an expert, as we have hit an impasse with the case and the magic used here,” the Head Auror explained.  
  
“Expert in what, exactly? Tying shoelaces?” Snape murmured under his breath, but both Harry and Robards ignored him.  
  
“It was not the first case, I presume,” Harry said.  
  
Robards shook his head. “No, there were four other cases during the last two months. Always the same method: the victim killed by the Killing Curse and left in a secluded alleyway, with shortened muscles, bruises, and bloodshot eyes; implying a prolonged use of the Cruciatus preceding the victims’ deaths. The weird thing is that, in every case, the bodies had been found next to a similar phenomenon to the one you studied earlier today, Mr Potter. That is the source of our perplexity, and hopefully your field of expertise.”  
  
“I doubt there are any fields where Potter is an expert.” Snape tried very hard to force some reaction out of Harry, but Harry knew the man well. He was determined not to give Snape the satisfaction of making him lose his temper.  
  
“And you suspect that the method used here is similar to the creation of enchanted mirrors?” Harry inquired. “It is probable…”  
  
“ _I_ suspect that you could not get enough of your own reflection, surrounding yourself with as many mirrors as possible: just as vain as your…”  
  
“As I was saying before Unspeakable Snape so rudely interrupted, it is more than likely that the same methods were used.” Harry slightly raised his voice and didn’t let Snape take over; he spoke exclusively to Robards. “This… thing seems to be a product of several proceedings connected to reflective magic. As if someone had took the mirror of Erised – or Mirror of Fears in this case – and made it freeze in the appropriate moment,” Harry explained, meanwhile ignoring a sneering Snape to the best of his abilities. “Were there any changes in the reflections with time?” he asked Robards.  
  
“No, not at all. They seem to be magic-resistant as well. All the spells bounced off their surfaces.”  
  
“It is a possibility that they are connected like a two-or more-way mirror. I should check for traces of the bond in the laboratory. Would you please organize its transportation? I imagine it will have to be moved with the block of concrete it’s embedded in.”  
  
The Head Auror nodded eagerly, beckoning one of his colleagues to assist with the task.  
  
“Potter, you truly think that your over-published babbling may help a real investigation?” Snape asked spitefully. “Playing with two-way mirrors with your little friends on the playground, and then writing about your adventures in children’s comic books, doesn’t make you an… _expert_. As I see it, publishing your childish, inane, and ridiculous experiments only gave ideas to the murderer, causing the _adults_ trouble.”  
  
“Maybe I am not here on the grounds of my knowledge and experience regarding mirror magic. It is obvious that human emotions are involved in the case, and as you know _nothing_ about those, of course you would need help. It is part of one’s emotional intelligence to understand and handle emotions, isn’t it? I suppose that is why I am here. To help out in the skills you seem to… lack.”  
  
Robards chose that precise moment to turn back from his conversation with the other Auror, thus blocking Snape’s undoubtedly acerbic reply. As much as Harry enjoyed the sight of Severus Snape getting a shade of purple that would have made Uncle Vernon envious, he had had enough for one night.  
  
“I will see you in the Ministry next morning, Head Auror Robards. There is nothing else I can do tonight; further examinations have to wait until tomorrow.”  
  
With a brief goodbye, Harry Apparated away, purposely not looking in the fuming Snape’s direction. He couldn’t help but hear the words ‘obnoxious’ and ‘whelp’ before he was consumed by the magical vortex, pulling him away.  
  
He let his previously overruled muscles have their way only after he had arrived into the solitude of his flat. Only then he let his hands shake so much that the firewhisky was splashed onto the carpet, even after the third glass.  
  


*

  
  
Harry dreamt about darkness—not oppressing or frightening, but protecting, welcoming darkness, which surrounded him with its warmth, embraced him in its strength. Darkness that had the blackest eyes, the smoothest skin, the most sinful voice.  
  
A dream that always ended in heartache. That one aspect never changed, even if he had had those dreams, with changing frequency, for years.  
  
Harry shied away from stating exactly how many years—even only in his own mind—it would have been too pathetic to acknowledge all the time he wasted on pining after a man who wouldn’t… No, that wasn’t safe thinking about.  
  
So, thanks to his dream, the morning had started in a dejected mood and wasn’t improving. Re-entering the Department of Mysteries was an unpleasant experience in itself; the place held too many bad memories for Harry. He tried to focus all his attention on the task ahead. The bizarre portrait of the woman, extracted from yesterday’s London alley in its concrete frame, lay on the examination table, in the middle of an almost completely bare, white-walled, sterile-looking room. It was absolutely out of place, and surreal.  
  
Harry deflected the unmoving gaze of the woman most of the time; it made him shudder.  
  
He had run several tests by the time Robards arrived—sadly, accompanied by none other than Snape.  
  
“This morning’s press was full of our murderer. Again. The journalists call him The Frightener,” the Head Auror informed him.  
  
“Oh my, could they get any less original?” Snape mocked.  
  
When his vitriol wasn’t aimed at Harry, Snape could be actually quite funny. Harry permitted himself the slightest smile.  
  
“Have you made any progress with the evidence, Mr Potter?” Robards asked.  
  
“Yes, I think so. I am now sure that this _is_ a mirror. It will catch one’s emotions if it is touched; it needs a contact with one’s bare skin. I also strongly suspect that it works like a two-way mirror frozen in one moment, which means it probably has its counterpart or counterparts somewhere, although I am not sure why the culprit would need more than one. Why didn’t they take this one with them?”  
  
“Maybe they want to enjoy their handiwork and mock the authorities at the same time, hence the two mirrors.” Snape uttered a whole sentence, and it wasn’t sarcastic. Harry was almost impressed.  
  
“Is it traceable?” Robards asked hopefully.  
  
Harry hesitated. “Well, I have been experimenting for a while now with making a passage between a pair of two-way mirrors. If one of the users is in danger, the other can step through to help.” Harry felt a blush emerging on his cheeks. “I haven't published my results yet.”  
  
“Even you cannot be such a big fool, Potter!” Snape snapped. For some reason – not that he needed any of those – he seemed to be furious. “You would give free way to anybody who wishes to find you through a blasted piece of glass. How long do you think it would take to use your own method against you? You are still an imbecilic moron,” Snape reprimanded him venomously.  
  
“Careful, Snape, one shall assume you cared,” Harry answered, equally angry. “Oh, right, I almost forgot. No one would accuse _you_ of caring!” Harry took a deep breath. “Anyway, my experiments aren’t that well developed yet. Thus far I have been successful in opening a temporary gate, but I haven’t tested it yet. I planned to take safety measures in the future; the intention is what would matter in the crossing. No one would be able to pass who means harm to the holder of the other mirror.”  
  
“Are you willing to continue your experiments, Mr Potter? Put your theory into practice. The Ministry will give you all the help you need, of course,” Robards offered eagerly.  
  
“Yes, I suppose,” Harry agreed somewhat reluctantly. He wasn’t looking forward to working in the Ministry, the same place where Snape was employed. Albeit, the sooner he finished this appointment and got out of the man’s proximity, the better. “The creation of the gate requires the combination of a potion and a charm.”  
  
“A potion, Potter, really? Made by you? Surely not, or we are doomed.” Snape enjoyed himself immensely.  
  
Harry started to get tired; he needed more and more energy and willpower to ignore Snape.  
  
“After that the freezing spell must be undone,” Harry went on with clenched fists.  
  
“Is it a spell?” Robards asked.  
  
“Yes, a variant of _Petrificus Totalus_ , but not so easily countered.” Harry’s earlier tests proved that.  
  
“As this is an unanimated object, we might try a liquefying spell,” Snape suggested.  
  
“Yes, it’s worth a try.” Harry added the idea to his mental to-do list.  
  
“Unfreezing the mirror could also mean that we may see the culprit,” Robards speculated.  
  
“Or they may see us,” Snape added.  
  
He had a point, even if Harry wasn’t happy to admit it, so he only nodded his agreement.  
  
“Will you need the other mirrors, as well? I could get them transported from the evidence storage room,” the Head Auror offered.  
  
Harry was quick to decline. “No, no, thank you. This one will suffice.” Harry really didn’t want to face the other victims, or see their terror captured for eternity. “Although I will need a few more things.”  
  
After assuring Harry that he would get everything he needed and setting the date for their next meeting, Robards left. An awkward and uncomfortable silence settled after his departure.  
  
“Have you ever managed to reproduce the Mirror of Erised?” Snape asked after a while.  
  
Harry didn’t expect the question. He honestly didn’t expect any inquiries from Snape, especially not this. “Yes. I have.”  
  
“You could have marketed it and made a fortune.”  
  
“I could have but I haven’t. It can enslave one’s soul and I wasn’t willing to take that risk. Or impose the danger on others.”  
  
“How… noble of you.” Snape’s every word dripped with sarcasm. “I can’t help but imagine what you would have seen. I wonder if there is enough place in a mere mirror to hold not only your big head, but also the image of the legion of adoring fans you always desired. Maybe a standing mirror wouldn’t be sufficient; I guess you could always use a ballet room with mirror-covered walls,” Snape mused, somehow growing bigger and bigger with every hurtful word he uttered.  
  
The tension in the room was palpable. Harry didn’t notice that they had stepped closer to each other until they were standing almost toe-to-toe. Harry hastily retreated, berating himself for reacting to Snape’s insults, his proximity, and his presence. He had promised himself that he wouldn’t let Snape hurt him anymore. Never again.  
  
He left the room post-haste, with a murmured goodbye.  
  
At home he took that first, experimental mirror he had made years ago out of its hiding place. He hadn’t used it for years. It was nothing to write home about, a plain, battered piece of glass, black stains darkening its surface. It took several minutes for Harry to find the required bravery – or was it foolishness? – to face the image it offered. It held the same picture as it had held for years. Harry suspected that it would never change. He wondered what Snape would have seen.  
  
He couldn’t sleep that night; the image of the two of them never left him alone.  
  


*

  
  
Their forced closeness in the laboratory was torture for Harry. He wasn’t sure why Snape monitored his every movement; more than likely he didn’t trust Harry enough to give him some space. Snape watched him like a hawk, his stare never wavering. Harry thought he deserved an award for his self-control. He tried to be as mature as possible, even if Snape provoked him time to time, although while working, or discussing theory, Snape usually let him be. Of course, a few rounds of shouting were bound to happen, but it hadn’t come to blows yet; in Harry’s opinion, that was an outstanding achievement.  
  
After many hours of hard labour, they were close to the solution. Very close.  
  
Harry applied the umpteenth version of the potion and used the charm they hoped would be appropriate; they only had to wait for the result.  
  
“I hope you didn’t mess it up this time, Potter. I have better things to do than babysit you,” Snape snarled.  
  
“At least I am making an effort here,” Harry shot back.  
  
“Clearly it’s not enough. You proved your incompetence many times.”  
  
His temper and exhaustion were getting the better of Harry. “I am not a schoolboy anymore; I won’t stand for your bullying. You can get your head out of your arse, or you can leave!”  
  
“Definitely mature, I can see what you meant by not being a schoolboy,” Snape retorted arrogantly.  
  
They were so immersed in their verbal sparring match that they didn’t notice when the reflection on the mirror’s surface started to blur.  
  
Snape’s cutting remark was the last straw; Harry started to shout in earnest. “You always ordered me around, and never acknowledged any of my successes!”  
  
“What successes? You always jumped headfirst into trouble, being the epitome of a foolish Gryffindor with his heart on his sleeve!”  
  
“It is better than not having a heart at all!”  
  
By then the mirror’s surface was rippling violently.  
  
“You were always melodramatic,” Snape stated sourly.  
  
“Why, because I loved you?” Harry screamed at him.  
  
“Indeed, that great, passionate love of yours! Look how far it got you. It must have abandoned you quite easily, given that you left me, didn’t you?” Snape shouted back, spit flying out of his mouth.  
  
Harry gasped. ”Severus…”  
  
Suddenly a hand grabbed Harry’s arm and pulled him through the mirror’s surface.  
  
Snape and Harry had succeeded; the portal was finally open. Obviously their previous theory was also proven: the passage was accessible from the other side, as well.  
  


*

  
  
Harry inelegantly stumbled out of the passageway right into the arms of a man who took advantage of Harry’s surprise; with a quick spell Harry’s body, from ankle to neck, was surrounded by thick ropes. He hadn’t got the chance to grab his wand, and it didn’t matter how hard he struggled, the ropes held him firmly. His back was pressed into his captor’s chest, whose wand was digging into Harry’s neck. Harry stiffened when the wand’s pressure became too painful.  
  
They were standing in a big, empty hall, with portraits on the walls. Portraits of all the victims whose bodies had been found on the streets of London. Not really portraits, but mirrors, frozen in time, like the one Harry and Snape had studied. The whole scene reminded Harry of a gallery: a sickening exhibition visited only by the devoted collector. It was a bone-chilling festival of suffering and dread.  
  
“Did you enjoy my artistic memento, Harry Potter?” An unfamiliar voice hissed into Harry’s ear.  
  
Harry renewed his struggle against the ropes; he wanted to get away from this madman desperately.  
  
“You don’t remember me, do you, Harry Potter? Of course not. I was the one who set you on the path of fame, with my first photos of you as a Triwizard Champion. At that time, I still was the sidekick of that bint, Skeeter. Of course, I was never recognized as the artist behind the camera.” The tone of voice in Harry’s ear indicated that its owner was offended.  
  
“Who are you?” Harry asked.  
  
“Bartholomew ‘Bozo’ Mondino, at your service,” the man answered proudly.  
  
“What do you want?”  
  
“I have never wanted more than to catch the elusive moment with a photo,” the man, Bozo, prattled. He sounded rapturous, as if he was talking about something sacred.  
  
Harry shuddered; he knew this kind of obsessed devotion, alight with insanity.  
  
“But now, thanks to you, I discovered how to capture emotions in their purest and deepest form. Isn’t that much more fascinating? And you will be the perfect model.” Bozo pulled Harry’s body closer, increasing the wand’s pressure on his throat. Harry tried to wiggle his way out of the trap he had fallen into, but he was confined by the ropes. The more he struggled, the tighter they seemed. Harry felt his panic growing.  
  
At that moment, with a whoosh, Snape stepped through the two-way passage. Harry couldn’t fathom what had taken him so long, but it didn’t matter anymore when Snape took a step; from then on, Harry was staring mesmerized behind Snape, because the portal captured once again the emotions of its latest trespasser, Snape: his worry, his fear, determination, and… love. It made a baffling contrast with the real Snape, standing in front of the mirror, his emotions hidden under his mask expertly. It was the exact image Harry had wanted to see during their relationship, but Severus had never showed him, so Harry’s insecurity and Severus’ pride separated them.  
  
There were words exchanged between Harry’s captor and Snape, who didn’t let his wand down, not even for a split second, but Harry wasn’t sure what those words had been. Even if the image of Snape was fading rapidly from the mirror’s surface, Harry wanted to devour every little line, curve and seemingly insignificant detail of that face.  
  
Harry came out of his stupor only when the Auror squad rushed into the room; presumably Snape had called them. Taking advantage of this newest distraction, Harry arched his neck back swiftly and struck the culprit hard on the forehead with the back of his skull, making him lose his hold and stagger back from Harry, leaving him an easy target for Severus’ stunner. With a second swish of Snape’s wand, all the ropes previously constricting Harry, fell to his feet.  
  
Harry smiled at Snape, finally seeing him. All of him. The knowledge made him smile even wider.  
  
Members of the Auror squad flooded the room, blocking the eye contact between Snape and Harry. The Aurors took Bozo into custody immediately after reviving him. The spacious room felt overcrowded with all those red robes. As the squad was there to take care of the situation, Severus stormed out, not waiting for Harry.  
  
Harry’s eyes automatically sought out the mirror on the wall. It didn’t hold Snape’s image anymore, but Harry knew without a doubt that it had been there.  
  


*

  
  
Living in a big city makes its occupants mostly immune to its hidden wonders; this Harry learnt only lately. The inhabitants can easily overlook a beautifully sculptured statue, a flower growing from the cracks of concrete, the crayon drawings on the pavement: all the things hidden behind the obvious on an average day. It is a part of life, accepted as it is. But on especially insightful days, like this one, everything is possible.  
  
On his way towards Severus’ flat, Harry contemplated all the hidden things he hadn’t recognized previously. The emotions he doubted, because they weren’t spelled out for him. Now he knew better.  
  
Severus allowed him into his flat without a word.  
  
“I wanted to say thank you for yesterday,” Harry began.  
  
“No need to thank me, Potter. It is like some old, bad habit. It is always I at the end who rescues your scrawny little arse.” Severus sounded tired.  
  
“True. It is always you,” Harry admitted with a warm smile, which soon turned into a cheeky grin. “Although I am very grateful for your help, I am also capable of taking care of myself; you don’t have to rescue me all the time. I don’t need a keeper or a bodyguard,” he said softly.  
  
Severus’ eyes flared with his fury. ”Excuse me for the inconvenience. I see now that I should have left you to your own devices,” he seethed.  
  
“As I was saying, I don’t need a keeper. What I need is a lover, partner, equal. You, Severus.”  
  
“What are you prattling about, Potter?” Severus asked suspiciously.  
  
“We were the victims of our own miscommunication and false assumptions in the past far too many times, so now, I will say this as simply as possible. And it’s Harry.”  
  
“You don’t make any sense,” Severus huffed, annoyed.  
  
“I love you and I want to be with you even if it is going to be complicated. I learnt to accept that you wouldn’t tell but show what you feel for me, that you already had shown.” Harry took a step closer to Severus. “I want a fresh start.”  
  
“Are you crazy? Or are you under the false impression that I am not who I am anymore? I assure you that I still am a cranky, vicious bastard,” Snape declared vehemently.  
  
Harry couldn’t repress his blossoming smile.  
  
“Oh, believe me, I know, Severus. I don’t want you to change! I want to start anew with you, the real you, all of you.”  
  
“You don’t know what you are asking for,” Severus protested.  
  
“But I know. You see, I am not a child anymore.” Harry took one more step, so now he was standing directly in front of Severus.  
  
“No, you are not,” Severus agreed reluctantly.  
  
Harry grabbed both Severus’ hands in his own.  
  
“Would you give me the chance for a fresh start then?”  
  
Severus hesitated. Harry waited him out. He saw something in Severus’ eyes, something warm and wild but also tender, which promised him that it would be worth the wait.  
  
“Yes,” Severus finally replied. “I would, you idiotic brat.”  
  
Harry smiled and squeezed Severus’ hands.  
  
“Good.” Harry nodded. “Brilliant.” And so was his smile. Then he added as an afterthought: “You great bat.”  
  
  


 

-The End-


End file.
